


What the Eff am I Doing?

by Yatzuaka



Series: I have a feeling I will regret this [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 05:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2416580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yatzuaka/pseuds/Yatzuaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shorts about Ginny and Draco.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	What the Eff am I Doing?

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the hat challenge.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First up:  
> Hat A:  
> Harry Potter  
> Hat B:  
> Friendship  
> Unbeta'd, barely read through, lucky it was spell checked

Before today, Ginny was not certain if there is a god. She's discussed the possibility with Hermoine many times, but even the cleverest witch in the world had no definitive proof either way.

Today offered no proof either way, but it did prove that if there was such a being, that being hated her beyond all reason.

Ginny could prove that much.

It didn't exactly start as most of her days started; uneventfully, filled with boring tedium and a sameness that made days blend into weeks blend into months blend into years so seamlessly that it seemed as if ten years of working at the ministry had lasted either days or decades. But it promised to end up that way eventually.

Her life had been so promising after the war. She'd had a boyfriend, who just happened to be the bloody savior of the wizarding world, she had a promising career in quidditch and most of all: Ginny Weasley had _potential_.

A terrible compound fracture of both her tibia and fibula ended her dreams in one fell swoop. From the rising star to has-been in less than 5 seconds. At 21, she'd thought life could get no worse. Then she turned 22, and suddenly she was single, living at her childhood home with her parents, and grateful for a low-paid clerical position with the Ministry's of Health and Magic Services Department.

She'd soldiered on, because that is what Weasley's do, despite the near constant disappointments and the near daily embarrassment of having people ask her, "Where do I know you from? Didn't you used to be someone?"

The only thing worse was when people _stopped_ asking her.

She turned 32 today. She should have known she should have stayed in bed when the first thing her feet encountered wasn't the cute throw rug she'd bought for next to her bed, but a still lukewarm pile of cat vomit. Then she found a pile of cat poop in the clothes she had been too lazy to put away after washing. She managed to get halfway to work without further incident, but she'd forgotten her bloody wand.

She was an hour late to work, and was promptly reprimanded her her tardiness. She took the tongue lashing from her boss, a boy almost straight out of Hogwarts, with as much equanimity as she could muster, which was to say, none. For a year, since she had been passed over for the position the little rodent now occupied, Ginny had held her tongue and, practically, the rodent's hand when he couldn't figure out the budgets or the messaging system or how to wipe his own bum. At 10:53 she could hold it no longer.

People would later use words like epic, legendary, monumental, partially obscene and loud as fuck when describing the tantrum that had gotten her fired. In essence, in the future Ginny would again reach the status of a revered folk-hero, but all she knew after coming down from her towering inferno of rage was that she was sacked. At least Frederica gave her an enormous wedge of the birthday cake bought to celebrate her special day.

Ginny sat in a muggle pub she often frequented, the only pub she could find with a decent outdoor smoking area- which was strictly for regulars and wasn't technically part of the actual pub.

She'd nodded at the old men who played cards in the corner, the old ladies who gossiped mercilessly. She ignored everything else in favor of steadily finishing her cake, her nearly full packet of cigarettes and as many shots vodka as she could. Morning washed into afternoon into evening smoothly with the help of alcohol.

Sometime after 7 she became aware of a presence, a much younger presence than the geezers that usually had access to the precious outdoor area. Her mind wasn't quite able to place the face of the man that shared the table she sat at, but she knew she remembered him from Hogwarts. He was sort of cute, if one went for the sharp featured, pale type.

It wasn't until she noticed the tattoo that covered the inside of his wrist that the pieces came together. Draco Malfoy.

If there was a god, that being hated her.

She tried to ignore him, but he had noticed her noticing him and sneered. Oh, there he was. That horrid prat from her childhood.

A few to many vodka's had her sneering right back, "What are you looking at?"

"A weasel, of course. Nature's most unfortunate creature."

It was precisely the wrong thing to say. Any other time it would have earned him a smart retort or a gimlet stare she'd knicked from her mother. Instead she found herself using her fingers to tick off the catastrophes she'd endured that day. Her mouth turned down alarmingly when she got to the point about losing her job, but she didn't cry. Thankfully. 

He'd blinked then laughed.

"Oh? I lost my son."

She was startled enough, and maybe smart or compassionate enough, to keep her mouth shut despite the urge to cackle. She remembered reading about it in the gossip columns.

"I guess that's why you're here, then, right?" she put it together. "That's why you're _here_. You're a regular," she had an insane urge to laugh. "Ball and Cockrel- Sanctuary of the Wizarding World. Ha."

"Yes, well. One does what one must when ones name is dragged through the papers by a vindictive ex-wife and a deranged reporter."

Her vodka was suddenly empty, and part of the etiquette of being a young'un granted access to smoking Shangri-La was bringing drinks to anyone who asked who was old enough to need a zimmer-frame.

"Who needs a round?" she shouted, partly because she was drunk, and partly because the fogies were _ancient_.

She didn't even notice the blond following her into the bar-proper, but she was glad for his help.

Sam, her favorite man over 75, the barman, was a crotchety old curmudgeon, but he had a mind like a trap and congratulated her on making it another year on earth. Malfoy bought her a shot of something foul, a concoction that Sam apparently delighted in making. His gap-toothed grin was practically luminescent as he handed over their glasses.

On a count of three the unlikely pair downed their shot and came up for breath with identical moues of disgust.

Ginny didn't remember much of what happened next, just an intense conversation she punctuated with more than a few "Fuck that bitch!"s and "That is awful!"s. After that, all she was certain of was that she sang quidditch songs with Malfoy until Sam kicked them out, and she made him tea the next morning when she found him on her sofa.

* * *

One down. 27 more to go. 

 


End file.
